


to freedom

by keyringkie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, I'm just lazy, Mentioned Alexis | Quackity, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Dave | Technoblade, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No beta we die like Tommy in the duel, Song fic, button room, fuck you, i'm revisiting the button room, people keep moving forwards with fan content, the world was wide enough, theres more, we don't go back in time enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyringkie/pseuds/keyringkie
Summary: wilbur in the button room what will he do. (answer: return to his roots, return to hamilton.)or: wilbur goes to press the button, but his mind drifts off.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	to freedom

**Author's Note:**

> dream smp moves SO FAST i just wanna lurk on the button room for a little bit longer thank you

The Voices keep getting louder.

Wilbur’s gaze flickers over to Phil for just a moment, watching his mouth move, his expression concerned. He can’t hear anything he says over the Voices, who keep talking, keep counting. It almost feels reminiscent of Tommy’s duel.

He pushes Phil’s hand off his shoulder, meandering closer to the button.

He feels his mouth move, words spill out, but he couldn’t tell you what he’s saying. (Anyone who asked Phil later would hear about Eret, the history of L’Manburg.)

He grins slightly, exhaling. The Voices go dead silent. His mind is quiet. The room is quieter.

“It was never meant to be.”

His hand slams down on the button. Time seems to slow.

And suddenly, Wilbur is not in the room. Not in his body.

He feels like he’s floating. Sure, he could zoom in, return to his body, return to the explosion.

But....

He breaks down, sobbing, hugging himself.

The Voices are silent. So he lets his own out.

“ _I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory!_ ...is this where it gets me?”

He stares down at himself, watching his hand inching closer to the button.

“...a few inches ahead of me?”

He takes a shuddering breath, glancing away.

“I see it coming, do I run or… let it be? There is no beat, no melody.”

His eyes wander to Phil, and he drifts closer, trying to hug him. His arms pass straight through, and he stumbles slightly.

“Phil. My first friend, my enemy. Maybe the last face I ever see…”

His head whips back to his body, panting slightly.

“If I throw away my shot, is this how you remember me?”

He wipes his face, tears spilling too fast to see.

“What if this room is my legacy?”

“Legacy - _what_ is a legacy?”

He paces in the room, watching Phil’s expression slowly morph to one of shock until it gets to be too much, averting his eyes to the floor.

“It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see- I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me-”

He feels a sob wrack through his body, and suddenly he’s on the floor, curled up within himself. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little too hard. Regret crashes over him like an ocean, and he is drowning.

“L’Manburg, my great unfinished symphony, YOU SENT FOR ME!”

It feels wrong. To be yelling in such a small room, no echos bouncing back at him. Nobody mocking him but himself.  
He rolls onto his side, staring at the walls. The words scrawled over the stone in a handwriting he can’t recognize.

His voice is breathy, borderline laughing. “You let me make a difference, a place where even British nobodies can leave their fingerprints and rise up, wise up-”

Eyes up. He suddenly jolts out of the room, up, up, up.

Up further, it’s blinding. There’s people. Dozens he cannot see, _could_ not see until now. 

His eyes land on one in particular, the dull horns setting him apart from everyone.

Schlatt, smiling at him. No strange implications hidden behind it, no hidden agenda. Just him and Schlatt in the middle of nowhere. _Just like old times?_

He sees Schlatt laugh, slap him on the back. _Just like old times._

And then it’s down, falling, and he’s on the podium. . Staring down at Tubbo, Techno, Dream, Karl, Sapnap, Quackity. Tommy.

_Tommy._

He feels himself drift downwards, staring Tommy in the eyes. Of course, Tommy doesn’t see him, moving slowly as a few seconds pass. (Is it seconds? It feels like it to Wilbur.)

“Tommy, Toms, take your time. I’ll… see you on the other side.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest. He almost feels silly, bidding farewell to these people. _They can’t even hear you,_ a voice whispers. Not one of the Voices. Almost himself, almost a rational thought, but he pushes it aside.

He finds himself in the midst of the crowd, frozen in time. He laughs, raising his arm in a mockery of himself.

“Raise a glass! To freedom!”

“Wilbur-”

And he’s back in the room and his hand is on the button and there’s the telltale hiss of TNT. The Voices are silent. His tears spill down his face as he turns, saluting Phil.

An explosion. Rubble flies through the air, and the world goes silent.

His ears are ringing as he looks over a Phil, who won’t look at Wilbur like he’s his son.

He exhales slowly, refusing to turn around.

When his ears stop ringing, he throws his sword at Phil. It’s too much. He did this. Finally, he did this, but there is no relief.

He wants to see Schlatt again.

There’s no comfort of dying in Phil’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like an hour an a half of nonstop work and i'm impulsively posting it without reading over it again sorry if theres any mistakes HAHAHA


End file.
